


Little Favors

by aymanderz



Series: Little Favors [1]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:55:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aymanderz/pseuds/aymanderz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss and Peeta moving each other along and growing back together.</p><p>A series of post-mockingjay events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not exactly following the epilogue of Mockingjay. I'm doing it with my own little twist.

It’s been six months since I’ve returned home from the Capitol and things in District 12 are still dreary.

Plutarch formed a cleanup crew to fix all that was destroyed in the districts. He asked me if I wanted the crew to clean up my old house in the Seam, but I still had my place in Victor's Village, and there was too many memories in that pile of rubble. I told him to fix it up and give it to a family that needed it.

I haven’t spoken to my mother in about a year and I don’t really care. In a way I resent her for leaving me alone.

I see Haymitch a lot when Peeta isn't around. Some days he'll invite Peeta over to my house. Those are the days I stay in my room.

I try my best to avoid Peeta, but every now and then I’ll pass by his kitchen window on my way to the woods and see him rolling dough or decorating a cake.

A part of me misses him. Especially when I wake up from a nightmare and wish for him to envelope me in his warmth. But he needs someone in his life that deserves him.

I never deserved him. _  
_

Sae nudges my shoulder and tells me to stop moping around, and to sweep up outside.

She comes over every morning to try and pull me out of my slump. She gives me small duties like feeding Buttercup or washing the dishes when we're done eating.

I grab the broom from behind the kitchen door and throw a small blanket over my shoulders before I walk out front. I begin to sweep up the dandelions that have somehow made their way from Peeta's house to my front porch. He never plucks them and it infuriates me because I'm always the one who has to clean it up.

As I'm kicking some rocks off the side, I feel something touch my shoulder and almost fall over.

“Hey,”

Before I even turn to look, I know who it is. Peeta _._

“Hi.”

My voice is a bit shaky. I just want him to leave so I don't feel the urge to kiss him or do something stupid like scream.

“I’m sorry, I jus- I just wanted to come see how you were. I mean, we haven’t talked in a while and we live right next to each other.”

It sounds like he wants to say more.

My eyes fall to the ground and I fiddle with the tip of the broom.

“Yeah well, I was just doing what was best.” My voice cracks midsentence and I know this conversation is going nowhere good.

Shit shit shit. I feel like I'm going to cry. My chest hurts. It's getting harder to breathe.

“Katniss?”

Peeta’s voice echoes my name as the tree in the yard does a flip, along with everything else.

My hand catches onto something before I hit the ground.

Then I see Prim. Playing in the garden that Peeta planted outside my house.

Her pretty little face so radiant that a smile on my own starts to form.

“Come here Katniss,” she giggles as her hand reaches out for mine.

It all seems like an illusion. My house has disappeared and it's just me, the flowers, and Prim.

I know this isn't real. 

Dark clouds begin to form in the sky. I look up as it begins to rain. This rain is familar. This rain is blood.

When I realize what is happening, my heart sinks.

My hand is empty, Prim has disappeared, and the flowers that were brought to life by Peeta's hand are dead.

The rain stops abruptly and I am now standing in a pile of dead roses, covered in blood.

I can hear Prim's voice calling my name as the ground underneath my feet begins to shake.

I drop to my knees and press my face against the hard ground, listening to her screams that rip through every part of my being.

I know this isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real. 

I then realized that her screams are coming from below and I begin to dig through the dirt.

I feel the dry skin on my fingers ripping as the cracks break apart at the seams, but I don't care. I hear an explosion from behind me that pounds on my chest like a brick crushing my heart, but I don't care. I know this isn't real, but I don't care.

I start to scream her name, hoping she can hear me. Hoping she knows that I won't give up. I won't let her die this time. I won't let her die ever again.

* * *

  
I open my eyes. It takes me a few moments to realize that I was just having a nightmare. I wasn't in a bloody meadow. I was still in my house. But Prim was still gone.

I heard voices downstairs, voices that I knew too well. Peeta and Haymitch.

I must have muffled my screams into my pillow because no one rushed to my rescue, not that I had expected them to. 

My mind lead back to the present situation. Why were they in my house?

When I made it down to the kitchen Peeta was cooking something that smelled wonderful, but I didn't want to show my desire for any of his food.

“What are you doing here?”

I try to say it as harsh as possible to show them that they are not welcome into my house whenever they please.

“Calm down sweetheart. The boys just making us some food. Something you’ve forgotten about in the past 6 months.” He gestures to my protruding ribs and I cover my midsection reflexivly. 

I let my hands fall to my sides shortly after the annicial shock of his comment, but he is right.

Before the games, all I ever wanted was a meal. The old me would have hated the new me.

I sit next to Haymitch at the table and rub my hand down my leg. Wow, I haven’t shaved either.

I turn my attention toward the glass fridge and see my reflection.

I look worse than I did before the games when there was hardly any food to salvage. My eyes have dark circles under them and my hair is disgusting. I look down at my trembling hands and see that each of my fingers are wrapped up in gauze. 

“What’s wrong with my fingers?” I ask shyly, looking up in Peeta's direction.

“You bit them and they started bleeding."

I don’t respond. All I can think about is the pain in my stomach. I have never felt this hungry before.

“Here Katniss. Eat this.”

Peeta slides a plate of steak in my face, which is hard to find in District 12 unless purchased from the Capitol.

I ignore the plate because I’m still upset with the fact that they are in my house without asking permission.

“Come on Katniss. Please?”

He places his hand on my cheek, rubbing his tumb gently over the purple rims that engulf my eyes.

“I’ll cut it for you,” he suggests as he grabs the knife from the counter and begins to slice the steak into small pieces.

I don’t really like when Peeta does things for me, but my hands hurt so bad that I let him.

“Thanks Peeta.”

As he cuts the steak, I watch his hand move back and forth.

I miss those hands that grip something so violent, but move so gracefully.

I miss those arms that seem to flex with each up and down motion.

I even miss those eyes that, for some stupid reason, I've been trying to avoid.

Those eyes that make it impossible to look away.

Those eyes that have reeled me back in.


	2. Jealousy

I wake to Peeta hovering over me with a wide grin and morning dawn shining through the open window.

“Hello beautiful,” he says, his voice still coated in sleep as his blonde curls lazily fall in front of his eyes.

I grunt in discomfort and push him off of me and back to his side of the bed. He falls asleep almost immediately and I lean over to kiss his cheek before throwing the sheets back and stretching my legs.

Peeta decided about a month ago that he wanted to rebuild the bakery and carry on his family business. We asked Thom, the new mayor, who understandably declined giving us any aid. A lot of houses have been rebuilt since the war ended, but there was still so much more to be done and not enough construction workers to do the job. If we wanted to open the bakery before the end of this year, we would have to rebuild it ourselves.

Since neither I nor Peeta have any experience in construction, we’ve decided to wait it out and do deliveries upon request. We didn’t expect our home in Victor’s Village to become somewhat of a café – where construction workers drop by every couple of hours to eat pastries and drink tea. Peeta, being the perfect hostess, always invites them in. I don’t mind having company, but with all of our new customers we never have time alone and when we do, Peeta is busy sleeping.

I drag myself to the bathroom and prepare for the day with a quick shower. I used to enjoy the warm water numbing every inch of my body, but now I loathe too much time given for deep thought.

After a few minutes, I turn off the water and wrap a towel around myself.  I exit the bathroom and head for the dresser to grab one of Peeta’s big t-shirts. I leave my hair down and to the side, hoping that he will come up from behind and sneak in a morning kiss on the neck. But there is nothing.

I turn to see if he’s awake and realize that he’s not even in our bedroom anymore.

There's a high pitched voice from outside our window that catches my attention. Peeta’s probably greeting a morning customer.

I throw the t-shirt over my head and wear the towel as a skirt. Might as well look somewhat presentable.

I run downstairs, almost slipping on the second to last step, and head into the kitchen preparing to eat some left over cookie dough.

But something isn’t right.

The kitchen is as clean as we left it the other day. Peeta hasn’t even started baking, so what exactly is he doing?

I walk over to the window in the living room that faces the dirt road and see Peeta standing next to a dark haired girl that I’ve never seen before. She looks about our age and dresses as though she was once a Capitol citizen.

Peeta leans against our mailbox while she chatters away, looking completely delighted to see Peeta. _My Peeta._ Why is she delighted to see _my Peeta?_

I slap my forehead.

What am I even saying? Everyone is delighted to see Peeta.

She places her hand on his shoulder and he looks down at his hands, blushing.

How could he be blushing? He only blushes around me.

Peeta pulls the girl in for a hug and she comfortably, _too comfortably_ , hides her face in the crook of his neck.

I step away from the window and sit on the couch, staring at our book that rests unfinished on the coffee table. 

I never deserved Peeta. This was meant to happen.


End file.
